


burned by your dreams

by sarumitrash



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Hair Dyeing, Happy Ending, M/M, References to Depression, Viktor-centric, yuuri remembers the banquet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:09:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarumitrash/pseuds/sarumitrash
Summary: A story of Viktor and his need for surprises, in five parts.





	burned by your dreams

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from “Soaked” by Adam Lambert (I'd highly recommend a live version if anyone were to listen to it). 
> 
> God, I haven't written a proper fic in so long but here I am because of YOI. I apologize if my writing is subpar right now due to my inactiveness! I honestly just wanted to get this out of my system.

Viktor was known for his surprises. One day he had shown up in a tight, sheer costume, trying to portray the adult he was forced to become. Another day he’d thrown in a new quad without warning, longing to hear the audience’s collective gasp as a sign that they still cared. And yet the things that the media cared the most about, of course, were his surprises in the form of hair color. Born with strange silvery-gray hair, Viktor quickly overcame his opposing feelings towards his condition by what only a young, creative mind could come up with — dyeing it.

**part i**

Merely an hour and a half before he was meant to be out on the ice, Viktor took to the venue’s bathroom, hoping to find no one in there. The last thing he needed was to run into Yakov, who would inevitably stop him before he even started; no, he really needed to do this. With only a slight tremor running through his hands, the boy began plastering on the bright blue hair dye that very nearly matched his crystalline eyes. He had almost went for a natural color, like a nice light brown, or maybe even black if he wanted to be bold, but he decided to go even bolder and picked a color that no figure skater had ever performed with before.

Washing out the dye quickly after letting it saturate, he cursed himself for forgetting a hairdryer. Performing multiple quads in less than a second each with wet hair lashing about his face even faster wasn’t something he particularly wanted to experience. With no other alternative, Viktor resorted to sitting under the hand dryer until it was time for him to go back to the rink for his turn.

It was just his luck that Yakov chose that exact moment to barge into the bathroom bellowing Viktor’s name. Yakov took one long look at his student hunched over on the floor before burying his face into his hands. All the poor man could muster at that moment was a deep sigh; the ear-splitting lecture could wait until after Viktor skated.

“C’mon, you stupid, stupid, boy,” Yakov grumbled, pulling Viktor up by the arm. “You have half an hour until you need to be out there.”

“But Yakov, I need to finish letting my hair dry. You don’t want me to whack myself with it and get a concussion on the ice, do you?”

-

Media reports during the following day showed mixed opinions, some with support for the new and the different, some with disgust at how unprofessional it was, but Viktor got the response he wanted — surprise.

 

**part ii**

This element of surprise that Viktor held over his fans and reporters kept him going for several years. He was currently sporting an ombre of red to orange that most likely would’ve looked horrific on anyone besides him, but he felt like another change was needed, another surprise to retain his relevance.

Viktor embarked on his usual bleaching mission, keeping the substance in his hair for forty-five minutes down to the second (any longer than that and his scalp would start to burn, something he’d learned the hard way). Only this time, as he brushed his freshly bleached hair, it truly wasn’t fresh at all. Looking at his brush, Viktor nearly screeched at the overabundance of dried out hair in it. That wasn’t normal. 

He let out a harsh whisper of, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” and turned to the mirror, nerves flayed. Tears sprang to Viktor's eyes as he took in his haggard appearance; the dark circles under his eyes seemed to complement the now-uneven and unhealthy hair that resided where its bright and lively counterpart once was. He felt so ridiculous, so vain, to be crying over lost clumps of hair. It had been a long time coming with how often he bleached it. But with this new development came the realization that he wouldn’t be able to keep up the surprises any longer. Viktor’s reputation would drop, his fans would leave him, if he didn’t have anything else up his sleeve. He could only destroy his hair so much, and even he knew he had to stop using such harsh products on it. But with the last flicker of his determination, Viktor sheared off and styled his hair into a decent-looking shorter cut that fell just over his one eye and continued on to dye it one final time — black, for a funeral.

 

**part iii**

What came to be known for a time as Viktor’s final foray into the world of hair dye was perhaps his most popular look once his silvery-gray roots started to show. Many thought it was on purpose, just another one of his recent ombre styles, but the media began to question him on both the different length and lack of any color when his roots inevitably overcame the last of the black dye after another haircut.  _ I just wanted to surprise you all _ , he’d said with a dulled wink.  _ I haven’t had short, plain hair in ages. Why not do a throwback of sorts? _

To the trained eye of his coach, this line was bullshit, but everyone else ate it right up. They also ate up any other covers Viktor provided and failed to notice the general lack of care displayed in his routines. Sure, he worked hard to make everything about his technique perfect and then worked even harder, but he wasn’t emotionally present in the routines, not really. The lift of a delicate wrist and the crease of a brow could easily gain him presentation points from the judges, but all Viktor wanted to do was stop skating. Would it be worth it? To give up what he’d made his entire life, his entire existence, just to give him some mental stability? He wasn’t sure.

Five gold medals later and Viktor wasn’t sure about anything. It was a struggle to get out of bed, a struggle to remember to eat, but winning another gold medal came as easy as second nature.

 

**part iv**

The banquet was supposed to merely be another mind-numbing event that Viktor could space out at without getting in too much trouble via Yakov. He let his coach do the actual talking with the sponsors; he just had to nod and smile and look pretty. Viktor was so sure that he had run out of his lifetime supply of surprises, both on his own part and on what he received, but one Katsuki Yuuri dared to derail that train of thought that very night. The man swooped in with the grace of a swan and an unrivaled determination, quite literally sweeping Viktor off his feet. Viktor danced with Yuuri long into the night after first being treated to a dance-off with Yuri Plisetsky and Chris, and he wanted to cry over how much he was feeling, really  _ feeling _ , just from being so connected with another person again. He was never actually one for physical contact, or so he thought, but sometimes he just needed it to cope. It shouldn’t have been embarrassing to admit to Yakov several years ago that he occasionally just needed a hug — humans were social creatures, weren’t they? 

But this new contact with Yuuri, a skater that Viktor humiliatingly hadn't been able to recall before then, left him feeling so light and free. Even the guilt he shouldered for not keeping track of his opponents couldn’t harm him. A glance into Yuuri’s eyes told him of the genuineness that he possessed, something Viktor had lost long ago but yearned to regain. He could see himself with Yuuri, in his arms, and that should have honestly terrified him. Viktor shouldn’t have been so content with planning out an entire future of long, warm days lying in bed with this man he just met, but it felt so fitting that he didn’t even care. And despite Yuuri being so obviously inebriated, Viktor could see him thinking the same way.

-

The morning after the banquet, Viktor awoke to a warm body pressed against his in a hotel room. Whose room, he wasn’t entirely sure, but a brief flashback to the previous night had him hoping to at least be sure of the person he was in bed with. Slowly looking up, Viktor saw brown eyes boring into his own with a soft flush on his face.

“You’re so beautiful,” Yuuri said.

Normally, Viktor would only feel worse at hearing that particular compliment — everything was about his appearance. But coming from Yuuri, he could almost believe it.

“I think you’re talking about yourself, Yuuri,” he replied, mostly just to let himself say Yuuri’s name.  _ Yuuri Yuuri Yuuri _ .

The object of Viktor’s affections let out a huff of air before burying his face into Viktor’s chest. Viktor half-hoped Yuuri could hear his heart racing, half-hoped he couldn’t just to save him from embarrassment, but it seemed like Yuuri’s held the same fast-paced beating, his heart threatening to fly right out of his chest.

“Um, I just want to apologize,” Yuuri began, startling Viktor.  _ Please, please don’t pretend this didn’t happen _ .

“For what?”

“Well, for… for pushing myself onto you last night,” mumbled Yuuri, eyes downcast. “I tend to be bolder and a bit more pushy when I’m drunk, so uh, I really hope I didn’t offend you in any way. I mean, I know we didn’t- didn’t  _ do _ anything, but still.”

Viktor took a breath in an attempt to calm himself before replying. “So you’re not sorry that we met? Or that we woke up together?”

"No—" Yuuri paled as his eyes went wide. "Wait, should I be? Oh god, I’m so sorry—”

Stalling his frantic movements with a firm, comforting hug, Viktor breathed in Yuuri’s scent as he said, “No, Yuuri, please don’t be sorry for any of that. Last night was… honestly the best time I’ve had in years. Please don’t say you regret it.  _ Please _ .” He was in tears now, a mess probably, but he had to know that Yuuri didn’t wish it never happened.

“Viktor, Viktor, look at me.”

Grabbing both sides of Viktor’s face, Yuuri looked at him straight on and gave him the honest truth: “That was the best time I’ve had in years as well.” He wiped a tear away from Viktor’s cheek with his thumb. “I don’t regret a single thing about finally meeting you. I only wish I had had the courage to do it sooner.”

Viktor knew it would take time — hell, there would be a great many months to come — just to genuinely get to know Katsuki Yuuri and his experiences, but at that moment Viktor deemed it the most important thing to accomplish in his foreseeable future.

 

**part v**

Viktor was known for his surprises. One day he had shown up with bright blue hair again, short now but reminiscent of his first go at dyed hair. Another day he’d personally requested an interview to discuss and raise awareness about depression, longing to help those like him as a sign of acceptance that showed they weren’t alone and that people still cared. And the things that the media cared the most about, of course, were no longer of any importance to him.

In the process of growing up, Viktor had never expected to realize he’d fallen in love with the vibrant colors of hair dye. It certainly came as no surprise, however, to realize that he had also fallen in love with Katsuki Yuuri. His lover, his sunshine, had known that he unknowingly missed the bubbly feeling of seeing wonderful new colors in his hair, and so Yuuri surprised him one day with a box of nearly every unnatural color sold on the market. Viktor could’ve wept — he did, in fact, weep — at the display, but more so at the fact that his Yuuri knew him so well, that he figured out what was missing before Viktor ever could have hoped to figure it out.

Now, without the pressure of feeling the need to constantly surprise everyone, Viktor could be spotted with bright, happy hair and a genuine smile gracing his face. Almost always alongside him was Yuuri, who vowed to help him take care of both his hair and himself properly this time around. Viktor came to conclude that despite some surprises being appreciated, perhaps they weren’t always necessary to reaffirm that he mattered to others. He knew that Yuuri and a box of hair dye weren’t a package deal cure-all for his depression — it took so long for Viktor to even admit that’s what it was — but the reliable and unwavering love that he received and gave to both in turn, especially his Yuuri, was more significant than any surprise could ever be.

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to give Viktor Waardenburg Syndrome (for the symptoms of bright blue eyes and prematurely greying hair), but I took it out because I felt that I wouldn't have been able to portray it correctly.  
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
